


Sephiroth Week 2019 Ficlets

by redredribbons



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control, Possessive Behavior, Sad, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-12-31 21:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redredribbons/pseuds/redredribbons
Summary: A collection of short ficlets around the themes for Sephiroth Week 2019. Sephiroth/Cloud features heavily in all of them.Tags and ratings will be updated as appropriate, and each ficlet will contain a note stating which tags apply.Some of the themes will be posted out of order; they flowed together better that way.





	1. INNOCENCE

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't played Crisis Core or any of the other FFVII-adjacent games-- so I apologize if my writing doesn't fit in with those.
> 
> Tags for this ficlet: light angst

Cloud was an early riser. 

It was a habit he’d picked up years ago in Nibelheim. Rise with the sun, fix breakfast for himself and his mother, and take care of his chores around the house. Then he’d be able to hit the shops right when they opened to run errands in peace before prying eyes and harsh whispers found him. He learned a long time ago that his peers generally preferred to stay up late and sleep in late— keeping the opposite schedule went a long way toward minimizing contact with them. 

Sephiroth, Cloud had been surprised to find, was _not_ an early riser when left to his own devices. 

Soft dawn light filtered into the bedroom of Sephiroth’s penthouse, and Cloud was wide awake.The first time he’d spent the night with Sephiroth, he’d climbed out of bed right away in hopes of surprising his new lover with breakfast. Sephiroth was far too light a sleeper for that; the instant he’d sensed movement in his immediate vicinity, he’d snapped up to a fully alert sitting position. The Wutai War had dragged on for years, with Sephiroth in the thick of it. A comfortable bed in a secure location would have been a rare luxury for him then. Even with the war over, Sephiroth’s heightened senses never truly relaxed.

So Cloud was content to lay still at Sephiroth’s side and admire him. They’d been sleeping together for several months now, but there were still times when Sephiroth would catch his eye with a raised brow and questioning look and Cloud would flush red at having been caught staring again. Sephiroth was, as he’d reminded Cloud many times, just a man— but there was an otherworldly quality about his features that mesmerized Cloud. Lofty cheekbones, shapely lips, angular jaw, long, long inexplicably dark eyelashes. A striking contrast with the rest of Sephiroth’s hair, which currently snaked over his side in a long braid. Sephiroth always braided it before sleeping. It didn’t matter how exhausted or busy he was, he always made time for it. And Cloud— who’d given up trying to make his own hair do so much as obey gravity— was fascinated by those long, skillful fingers effortlessly weaving through cascades of silver. Cloud swore he’d work up the nerve to ask Sephiroth to teach him one day. A few strands of hair had come loose around Sephiroth’s face, and Cloud had to resist the urge to gently brush them back. Even the lightest touch would awaken Sephiroth. And Cloud wanted to admire for a little longer. 

Especially given how different Sephiroth looked when he was asleep. Younger, mostly. Relaxed in a way Cloud never saw him while awake. It didn’t matter the activity or context— whether he was shouting orders to troops or cooking dinner, Sephiroth’s posture was always rigid and upright, his brow creased with focus or a frown. It made him look older. Cloud had been shocked when he found out Sephiroth was barely six years his senior. Even more so when he’d first asked Sephiroth about his age and birthday, and Sephiroth merely blinked and said he’d consult his medical files (with Hojo’s permission). Thinking about it made Cloud irrationally angry on Sephiroth’s behalf. Shinra may have been Cloud’s employer, but Cloudnever understood the fervor with which the science department objectified and dehumanized Sephiroth. Their determination to subdue him into a mindless poster boy or bespoke weapon (depending on the whims of the president). Anything but a man. 

Cloud was more than a little embarrassed that his childhood bedroom was decorated in as many of those Shinra SOLDIER recruitment posters as he could get his hands on. He’d have to take those down next time he visited his mother. The idea of Sephiroth finding out was beyond mortifying. Not that there was any chance of that, of course, unless he were to take Sephiroth home to Nibelheim. Cloud felt his face heating up. That was a ridiculous line of thinking, Sephiroth never took leave (would never be allowed to) and their relationship wasn’t that serious. Yet. Maybe someday, Cloud hoped. His chest tightened as he imagined taking Sephiroth’s hand on the rickety wooden bridges of Mt. Nibel, introducing Sephiroth to his mother, showing Sephiroth the water tower where he used to spend his days dreaming of joining SOLDIER (and meeting the man whose bed he now shared). 

Sephiroth rolled onto his back, stretching as he began to wake. 

Cloud realized he was smiling, and didn’t bother to hide it.

_Maybe someday._


	2. DARKNESS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter: more angst, past Sephiroth/Cloud

“He’s still here.”

Tifa clung tighter to the stone in front of her, knuckles white and bloody as she hauled herself up toward the edge of the crater, refusing to look back. “Cloud, that’s impossible. We all saw— we watched him die down there. Inside the planet.”

“I know. But he’s not really gone. I can feel it. There’s still part of him—“ _Inside me._

_“_It’s not safe here. We have to go.” Tifa’s next foothold sent a cascade of pebbles rattling down beside Cloud. He couldn’t move, despite the roiling heat of the lifestream’s energy beneath them. His shirt was soaked. He watched a droplet of sweat cut through the dirt on Tifa’s skin. The sound of his own breath roared in his ears. 

Silken threads dragged across his bicep.

Cloud’s vision refocused just in time to catch himself before he let go to slap away the illusory sensation. It felt way too much like — _the caress of Sephiroth’s hair on his bare skin, when they used to— _Cloud swore under his breath and shuddered in disgust. Not because he hated it, but because he couldn’t. 

“Careful!” Tifa’s voice rang out above him, “Some of the stones are loose!”

Cloud tried hard to concentrate on the sound of her voice, though he didn’t dare turn to look down at the rest of the group. Gods, he was so close to the end. All he had to do was _get out of here_, away from his final memories of—

_Warm, supple leather. _The scent of it closed in around him, choking, and he couldn’t get enough. 

Tifa was saying something else, but she sounded so far away. Heat blazed all around him. Consuming him, just like Nibelheim, and his mother, and Aerith were consumed. Cloud’s eyes stung. Everything was too bright suddenly. The anguish of reality was unbearable. His stomach heaved. 

Then something cool and firm anchored Cloud around the wrist. It had to have been Tifa’s hand. Familiar despair shone in her eyes.

“Cloud, no!” she cried, “Hold on! Oh gods, not again, not again…”

Words couldn’t escape the darkness as it pulled Cloud into a controlling embrace. But he knew this was the only way. There was no escape.

_Again. As many times as it takes._

Cloud’s eyes snapped open. He was nowhere. Seeing nothing but blackness all around him, he’d initially assumed it was pitch dark. But then he noticed his hands, and feet, and sword, all clearly visible. There was illumination coming from somewhere, but nothing _to_ see. 

He wasn’t alone, though.

There was the unmistakeable anticipation, a thrill in his gut turned all sour and nauseating like a roller coaster with no brakes. His skin prickled with loathsome electricity— even the brush of his clothing set him on edge. The buster sword jutted in front of him at the ready, unwavering in his damp palms.

_Whatever it takes._

Cloud parted his lips to call out for Sephiroth, scream curses at him, challenge him to end this once and for all. But Sephiroth was always, infuriatingly, one step ahead of him.

A puff of warm air rustled the hair on the back of Cloud’s neck. An exhale far too close. Within it, a velvet purr that sent his thoughts fleeing into the shadows. 

“Hello, Cloud.”


	3. WISH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this ficlet: (temporary) canon character death, graphic violence/blood, angst, sadness

Cloud screamed as he whirled around, the buster sword carving a deadly arc through the air. Momentum sent the blade crashing forward with enough force that it lodged into hard ground.

As Cloud tugged his sword free, a wisp of movement caught his eye. Sephiroth stood well out of striking distance, his hair gently flowing in some strange breeze. Cloud’s head swam with disorientation; there was no trace at all of the nightmare abominations he and his friends had destroyed. There was only a man, perfectly calm. The long black coat, pauldrons, and harness were gone. Masamune was nowhere in sight. Being half naked should have made Sephiroth seem more vulnerable— instead he only seemed more ethereal. And Cloud would never be stupid enough to think that Sephiroth was truly unarmed, Masamune or not. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Sephiroth asked, sounding more curious than angry.

Cloud closed his eyes. He must have fallen and been knocked unconscious. Maybe even killed, though he had a hard time believing that the Lifestream would be anything like _this_. But when Cloud opened his eyes again, Sephiroth was still there, as patient as ever. Sephiroth had always been so, so patient. He never rushed or pressured Cloud. There was no need. Sephiroth always made it clear what he wanted, and Cloud came to him every time.

Cloud couldn’t look at Sephiroth’s face. When his gaze fell he was confronted with the broad planes of Sephiroth’s chest, abdominal muscles, the sculpted lines of his hips. Cloud hated that he’d looked, hated that Sephiroth _saw_ him looking, hated that Sephiroth had clearly orchestrated all of this— and most of all, hated that he still couldn’t stop himself. His eyes stung with tears when he refocused them on some point next to Sephiroth’s head. He swore he wouldn’t cry in front of Sephiroth. Not this time. 

“Yes,” Cloud snarled through gritted teeth, “I’m going to fucking kill you, and you’re going to stay dead.”

Sephiroth made a noncommittal sound. Masamune suddenly appeared in his hand— no telling where it had come from. 

The nonchalance of Sephiroth’s demeanor, the sheer _arrogance_ of him_, _set off a combustion reaction deep inside Cloud. White hot rage boiled his blood. How could Sephiroth just stand there like he didn’t have a care in the world, after everything he’d done, and all that had been lost? Cloud was barely aware of his own body moving, boots slapping the ground as a horrible sound rose up around him: his own voice in a hateful, broken scream as he blindly rushed at Sephiroth. 

Sephiroth blocked easily enough but made no real attempt to counterattack as Cloud hammered blow after frantic blow down on him. “You’re going to _stay_ in the Lifestream where you fucking belong!”

“Hmm, the Lifestream…” Sephiroth said. He didn’t block the next attack, but instead danced out of the way.

“That’s right, you son of a bitch, if it’ll take whatever rotten excuse for a soul you have left!”

Cloud hefted the buster sword back over his shoulder. 

Sephiroth smiled. 

As the blade crashed down in a brutal diagonal strike, Masamune vanished again. 

It felt like slow motion: Cloud’s sword tearing through Sephiroth’s chest and abdomen in a burst of dark blood and viscera. Sephiroth crumpled to the ground, all of his mystique and power stripped away, so jarringly _human_. Cloud collapsed beside him as the sword slipped from his grasp. It wasn’t as if Cloud had never killed anyone before— but the vulnerability of Sephiroth in this state shocked his anger away like a startled bird. Cloud didn’t know what he’d expected: for Sephiroth to vanish in a puff of smoke, or burst into flames, or _something… _

Not bleed out on the ground, cleaved nearly in two, no different from a common foot solider on a battlefield. Cloud supposed this was a victory, but he didn’t feel triumphant. He crawled closer to Sephiroth, heedless of the rapidly spreading pool of blood beneath him. It splattered across Sephiroth’s alabaster skin and soaked into his hair. Cloud smoothed the sticky bangs from Sephiroth’s forehead, then lifted Sephiroth’s head to rest in his lap. Those hypnotic green eyes stared up at him, dimmer now, but no less calm. Certain, in a way that Cloud didn’t understand. Blood began to leak from between Sephiroth’s lips. Cloud brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. No, there was no triumph in this at all. It felt like a twin wound was opening in Cloud’s own chest, empty and gaping that could never be healed. 

“I’ll see you again soon… Cloud…” Sephiroth rasped. The corners of his lips quirked one final time. He didn’t look away as the light faded from his eyes. 

When Sephiroth couldn’t see anymore, Cloud let his tears fall. 

“I wish… things hadn’t been this way,” he whispered. 

He slid his palm down Sephiroth’s face to close those now-dull green eyes. It made Sephiroth look peaceful, like he’d fallen asleep, and Cloud’s heart stuttered as memories of _waking up next to Sephiroth_ flooded his consciousness.

“But don’t come back. Don’t you dare come back.”


	4. FATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this ficlet: stalking, possessive behavior

Sephiroth didn’t think he’d ever fully adjust to the Lifestream. His mind was intact through sheer force of will; the Lifestream had done its best to tug at the loose threads of his identity until it unspooled him. Perhaps, for most, that came as a relief. A final rest at the end of a long journey. Sephiroth’s journey, however, was not complete. His mission was unfinished. No force in the universe had ever been able to stop him from completing a mission, and he wasn’t going to quit now. Over time (he had no reason to doubt that time still passed normally on the planet, though he had no longer had any concept of it) the pull lessened to occasional background plucking that he ignored easily enough.

He consciousness drifted, tugged along by the currents of energy. Sephiroth allowed this, for a time. He would always be, at his core, a general and master strategist. As with any defeat in battle, the next step was to regroup in a safe location. Then, assess resources, review the course of events to understand why he’d failed, and revise his tactics accordingly. Sephiroth knew very well that wars weren’t won with a single battle. 

This time, the defeat had stung. It had been personal. Sephiroth wasn’t above admitting that to himself. Victory would be all the sweeter for it though, and he was now ideally positioned to achieve that. He was presumed dead, and undetectable in his current state. He had unfettered access to the heart and soul of the planet. He knew that physical remnants of Jenova still lingered on the planet’s surface. They called to him. In time there would be another Reunion, no less inevitable than the rise of the sun. 

The first order of business had been to control the Lifestream’s current around him, bending it to his will, allowing him freedom of movement. He focused on the brightest soul of all, a lighthouse in the stormy sea: Cloud Strife. 

As Sephiroth clawed his way toward Cloud, he experienced something like his eyes opening for the first time. He could perceive the world around him— outside the Lifestream, though he was still trapped within it. The remnants weren’t yet strong enough for him to regain corporeal form, but that didn’t matter right now. Sephiroth could move effortlessly and invisibly, giving him an advantage at reconnaissance. 

At first Sephiroth hung back, watching Cloud from a distance. But he quickly grew bolder as it became obvious that Cloud (nor anyone else for that matter) could perceive his presence. Cloud inhabited the top floor of one of the sloppily-built structures sprouting like weeds from ruin of Midgar. Something ugly bubbled up in Sephiroth’s consciousness when he saw that Cloud shared the dwelling with a woman and two children—_the itch of a phantom left hand wrapped around the hilt of Masamune, the heat of blood spray, Cloud’s passionate rage focused on him and him alone_— but subsided when he observed Cloud’s apparent disinterest in them. They reached out to him, trying to engage him their activities and conversations, but Cloud did little more than go through the motions. Perhaps Cloud could pretend well enough to fool them, to make them see what they wanted to see, but not Sephiroth. Sephiroth could see that Cloud was never really present— those round blue eyes were always a little unfocused, searching for something out of reach. 

Maybe that was why Cloud spent so much time on the road. Cloud was a _delivery boy_, of all things, and Sephiroth couldn’t decide if the banality of it all was amusing or insulting. Cloud was one of the greatest warriors ever to exist, but a sword without a war may as well be a kitchen knife. 

Sephiroth was, however, pleased to see that Cloud still carried a sword everywhere he went. Every night, Cloud meticulously cleaned and polished it. On nights like this, when Cloud was alone and sleeping under the moonlight, he took extra time. This sword wasn’t one that Sephiroth had seen before, so he decided it was in his best interest to learn more. Sephiroth hovered close at Cloud’s back, peering over his shoulder, mesmerized by the dance of nimble fingers through the fascinating array of _components_ within the sword. The movements sang with pent-up frenetic energy that Sephiroth knew seethed below Cloud’s detached exterior. 

_You’re_ _dying to use that properly, aren’t you, puppet? This life doesn’t suit you at all. _

There was that curious sensation again, the twitch of Sephiroth’s phantom left hand. This… lack of form would be advantageous in the long term, but in that moment Sephiroth wanted nothing more than Masamune screaming against the edge of Cloud’s curious new double-sword. Light would flare in Cloud’s eyes, his jaw would clench and his lips would twist in a snarl completely at odds with the boyish flush of freckles on his cheeks. 

A breeze rustled the fine hairs on the back of Cloud’s neck, and a shudder ran through his body. Busy hands grew still— then snapped like a trap around the hilt. In an instant Cloud whirled onto his feet, sword raised as if it weighed nothing at all. And there was that _expression_ on Cloud’s face, he was so _eager— _

And then it was gone. Cloud blinked and choked a bitter little laugh to himself. There was no one there. 

_I won’t keep you waiting for long, puppet. _


	5. REMAKE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to grotesquely bastardize the Advent Children sword fight!
> 
> Tags for this ficlet: graphic violence and blood, possessive behavior, mind control, dubious consent (kissing and touching)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene at the end of this story was inspired by this fan art: https://twitter.com/bizzaroren/status/1182348713156628481?s=20 Scene used with the artist's permission.

All of this had happened so dizzyingly fast, Cloud couldn’t even begin to understand it. One moment Cloud had the upper hand on his strange adversary, swooping in for a crushing blow. 

And one moment later, the entire world turned upside down. Cloud found himself eye to eye with Sephiroth: remade, somehow, bursting fully formed from Lifestream to planet. There was no trace of the other man. Sephiroth’s rebirth consumed him. 

Though he’d dreamed of Sephiroth more than he cared to admit (and not all bad dreams, shameful as it was), nothing could have prepared Cloud for seeing Sephiroth in the flesh again. A maelstrom of emotions roiled through him and he didn’t have time to process any of it because Sephiroth was lunging at him, Masamune in hand. 

Cloud wasn’t so much counterattacking as reacting_. _He knew he was off balance, already tired from his previous battle, and borderline unsure if he was actually seeing Sephiroth or having an elaborate hallucination.

Sephiroth, however, appeared no worse for the wear. Masamune crashed down on Cloud again and again, and it was all he could do to parry. Each clash of blades flipped through his emotions like a slide show. He desperately wanted to freeze-frame on hatred, but there was too much raw adrenaline and excitement in the mix. He’d spent too much time practicing his sword forms while fantasizing about how the edge of First Tsurugi would feel locked against the blade ofa worthy opponent. He tried to keep these imaginary opponents faceless, but somehow they all ended up with long silver hair and green eyes.

Cloud was distracted and running out of space to back into, and Sephiroth was relentless and so fucking _intense_ and when their eyes met over crossed blades, Cloud stumbled. A sickening crunch sound startled him. It wasn’t until he tried to get up that he realized the sound had come from Masamune thrusting cleanly through his ribcage. His legs wouldn’t work, but Sephiroth easily hauled him up to watch him dangle from the end of the blade. All he could do was gape at Sephiroth, who stared back with the kind of hunger that made Cloud’s broken body twitch with involuntary anticipation.

Sephiroth flicked his wrist, flinging Cloud off of Masamune with a wet sound. Cloud’s back slammed into concrete and he slumped forward onto the ground. His vision was dark around the edges and what he could still make out was a swirling mess. He was dimly aware that First Tsurugi was no longer in his hand. He had to find it, he had to get _up_, Sephiroth was closing in… When Cloud made another attempt to stand, he nearly passed out as all the pain from his chest wound slammed into him like a freight train. Every gasp for breath was glass shards in his tattered lungs, but there was a Restore materia in his bracer. As long as he held onto a tiny spark of consciousness, he could do this. 

Cloud concentrated his dwindling energy on a Cure spell. Mercifully, the spell worked. The pain from the stab wound faded, only to be replaced by the bizarre, nauseating sensation of living tissue being forcibly knit back together. When Cloud peeled his eyes open— he didn’t realize he’d closed them— his vision slowly refocused on black leather boots right in front of his face. Sephiroth was _so_ close to him. Given his vulnerable condition and lack of weapon, Cloud’s first instinct was to scramble away, but he had nowhere to go. His only choice was to _get up_, had to fight _however he could—_

But Sephiroth didn’t seem interested in fighting anymore. Cloud managed to rearrange himself into a cornered-animal crouch, head tilted up to watch his enemy’s movements. Sephiroth, however, was watching _him_. Silver hair cascaded forward with the downward tilt of Sephiroth’s head, nearly long enough to brush against Cloud’s face. His eyes were narrow and one of those tiny but maddeningly smug grins tugged at the corners of his mouth. Masamune had vanished.

A glint of metal nearby caught Cloud’s attention. That had to be First Tsurugi, or at least a piece of it, stuck in a heap of rubble behind and to the side of Sephiroth. It wasn’t far, but his odds of successfully making a break for it before Sephiroth caught him were near zero. He had to try though. At least he had the element of surprise on his side. Taking advantage of Sephiroth’s passivity, Cloud used his low position to launch himself in the direction of his sword. 

An iron grip caught him around the waist, knocking the wind out of him for a second time. In an instant Cloud found himself right where he began, with his back against the wall. This time with his wrists pinned next to his head and Sephiroth _right there_. In sword fights, Cloud used his speed, unpredictability, and sheer viciousness to level the playing field with Sephiroth. At close quarters hand-to-hand fighting, Sephiroth’s greater strength and size easily prevailed. Cloud thrashed against a grip that restrained him as effectively as SOLDIER-issue manacles. Sephiroth was far too close for Cloud to get any good leverage for a kick. And he managed to wedge himself between Cloud’s feet, so Cloud couldn’t knee him in the groin either. Sephiroth’s grin widened as his eyes roamed over Cloud’s squirming body and pain-twisted face.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going, puppet?” 

Still struggling to breathe after the beating his body sustained, Cloud sucked in a gasp of air. It was thick with Sephiroth’s scent: warm leather and that aromatic oil he apparently still used in his hair and his skin and _fuck. _Memories battered Cloud’s already-fragile consciousness and sent him reeling. 

Cloud refused to look away, though. He held Sephiroth’s gaze, anchoring himself in those glowing mako depths until the rest of the world stopped spinning.

“Answer me,” Sephiroth commanded. Sephiroth seldom raised his voice; he never had towards Cloud and didn’t start now. Cloud wished he would. It would make this much simpler.

But just because some traitorous part of Cloud’s brain actually like the sound of Sephiroth’s voice, liked the way that velvety purr walked down his spine like fingertips, didn’t mean Cloud was going to obey the words it spoke. 

So instead of replying, Cloud spat directly into Sephiroth’s face. 

Sephiroth didn’t so much as flinch. He huffed a sound of amusement before flicking his tongue out to taste the saliva that landed near his mouth. 

“Hmm,” he said, “I suppose it’s irrelevant. No matter where you go, you always end up bacn where you belong. Isn’t that right?”

Cloud redoubled his struggling. If he could just find a weak point in Sephiroth’s grip, if he could twist his arms just so— “_No_, you delusional bastard, I’m not—“

His words died in a strangled grunt as Sephiroth surged forward, closing what little distance remained between them. Sephiroth was heavy, a solid wall of muscle, and Cloud knew he was well and truly fucked.

“Not what?” Sephiroth said, barely above a whisper. Cloud’s entire body jolted like a live wire when Sephiroth’s lips brushed over the shell of his ear. 

Distantly, Cloud knew he should be repulsed by Sephiroth’s behavior, and disgusted with his own reaction to it. But it was so hard to think with Sephiroth filling his senses and igniting a horrible, familiar yearning in his cells. Sephiroth adjusted his hold to shift both of Cloud’s wrists into one huge hand. The grip was tight enough for Cloud to feel his bones pressing together, but the pain only fueled the feverish heat growing under his skin. It was a sick desire that should stay in the past, but Cloud found it increasingly difficult to remember _why_. All the rights and wrongs seemed so complicated all of a sudden, so excruciating. 

With his free hand, Sephiroth pushed aside the ruined fabric at the front of Cloud’s shirt to expose the freshly-cured skin there. It was shiny and pink and still tender enough to make Cloud shiver when the seams of Sephiroth’s glove scraped across it. Sephiroth dragged a finger through the sticky, not-quite-dried blood on Cloud’s chest, then brought it to his own lips. 

“Mmm,” Sephiroth purred, “She’s still inside you. And so am I. I can taste it.”

Cloud’s brain stewed with a thousand denials and curses, but it was all tattered scraps in a gale. His head listed back against the concrete. Sephiroth arched over Cloud to watch the filaments in his irises spark with mako green.

“Your mind may try to deny it, but your body never will,” Sephiroth continued, deceptively gentle, “Let go, Cloud. You carry so many burdens that aren’t yours. So many ties hold you down.”

Sephiroth stroked along the sensitive skin on the underside of Cloud’s arm until he encountered a dirty scrap of pink ribbon knotted around Cloud’s bicep. Sephiroth hooked a finger under the ribbon and tugged. A tether to memories of the Cetra girl, a material reminder of Sephiroth’s fallibility. 

Sephiroth tugged harder, and Cloud fought against Sephiroth’s grip with renewed energy. Sephiroth only smiled, delighted that Cloud still had some fight left in him. After all, surrender wasn’t nearly as satisfying as a decisive victory. Cloud opened his mouth to speak, and Sephiroth cut him off with a kiss, refusing to cede the ground he’d gained. It was a clash of teeth and bitten lips and the taste of blood, but Sephiroth didn’t stop. Sephiroth felt the exact moment he'd won: when the kiss sank into slow and deep, the way Cloud liked best, and Cloud’s body slotted perfectly together with his own. 

Sephiroth kept his eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of mako finally eclipsing the blue in Cloud's, moments before they fluttered shut. 

“That’s my good boy,” Sephiroth murmured against Cloud’s swollen mouth. He tore the ribbon free, and it fluttered to the ground, forgotten. 


End file.
